HD 'Come Closer'
by tigersilver
Summary: Essentially, fluff about two foolishly smitten Hogwarts profs snogging. For megyal and enchanted jae. With all my stripey, furry, silly little heart.


HD 'Come Closer'

Author: tigersilver

Pairing: D/S

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1500

Warnings/Summary: Essentially fluff about two foolishly smitten Hogwarts profs snogging. For megyal and enchanted_jae. With all my stripey, furry, silly little heart.

* * *

"Come closer? Hey?"

Harry grew up in a cupboard; he's a little starved sometimes. Draco is more than fine with it, though.

"Gladly," Draco says and wraps both his long arms about the smaller man's body, curling in the tips of his stained fingers so Harry knows he's held securely. "…_Baby_."

It's not said nastily. Draco smiles into Harry's infamous hair, enjoying the tender way the ebon tendrils tickle his nostrils, the delicious smell of verbena and vanillin that lingers amidst the bird's nest of whorls and tangles, clean and fresh, overlaying the subtler scent of Harry's skin. He sighs silently, ruffling Harry's fringe, content to muse away the last of their free period.

Harry wriggles, laying his head down fully against the broad plane of Draco's chest, just within the hollowed space created by the rise and bend of Draco's pale neck and the obstinate jut of his white-blond stubbled jaw. "Hmmm," he sighs. "You skipped shaving this morning but you still smell good."

"I know," Draco chuckles. "I should. Brewed it myself. You all right down there?"

It bobbles about in clear of the late September air unspoken, the remainder of Draco's question: 'You're not usually like this,' he's remarking. 'Should I worry?'

"Perfectly," Harry murmurs, and he is. For this perfect moment and then also for the longer run of them to come; he's got Draco Malfoy to hold him fast and it's amazing how much that soothes and suits him. "Don't move, though. I can stay here all the day long, doing this."

Now Draco is definitely laughing, a silent shake of his ribs beneath Harry's chin. "Silly, you can't really. We'll have to go back to work _sometime_. Even Headmistress at her most benevolent is not likely to forgive her golden boy for skiving off his own lectures."

"Pfft." Harry only snuggles more closely, digging his chin into Draco's sternum in revenge. "She might, at that. 'Specially if I tell her I was having a Moment." He smiles at his own fancy. "You know, we could try it on and see?" he goes on to offer, glancing up hopefully through his smudged lenses at the smile gracing Draco's lips. "I'm game if you are."

"Hah! You're a mad little bastard, Harry Potter," Draco says, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's brow, "but I love you, so maybe we really will. I do so love to put one over on Herself, ruffle her plaid plumage a little; such a _keen_ Gryffindor."

"That's fine, then," Harry grins. "We'll play hooky together, you and me. Right here."

"Hmm," Draco nods. Harry's forehead receives another small kiss in passing. It's warm and soft and filled with affection. "Right. And I suppose I'll even go so far as to let you blame me when she catches us at it. I am the resident bad boy, after all."

"No you're not!" This has Harry finally drawing back just enough to stare up at Draco. He twists about, shifting his bum on the cold stone of the bench they've been sharing whilst eating their luncheon, banging their various be-trousered kneecaps together as he goes. "No, Draco, you're so bloody reformed you even frighten McGonagall sometimes! Don't pull that shit on me, Malfoy. Not buying it."

"Huh, is that so?" Draco scoffs, but Harry knows he's teasing. "Well, if that's the case, I'd better brush up on my Slytherin, yeah? Part of my incredible sex appeal, isn't it—my blissfully evil reputation?" He draws out the 'e's' of 'evil' with a fond sneer. "Wouldn't want you to lose interest in me by dint of being a dull boy. Absurd!"

"Not 'dull' either, idiot man," Harry laughs. "Not by a league." He finally leaves go of Draco but only so he can lift a hand to that sheaf of white shiny silk and tug Draco's head down to within true snogging distance by way of pressing on his nape. "For example? Of the two of us, you're the one who loves going night flying without a Lumos. You're the one who likes the spiciest Thai! And, you routinely explode your laboratory and frighten all your students, so I'd hardly call you 'boring'. And I find you sexy as all bloody fuck anyway, even when you're covered in ruined potions and Madame Pomfrey's shrieking at you, chasing after you with her wand!"

"Thanking you kindly," Draco smirks and closes the tiny distance between their two smiling mouths, almost nearly sufficient but not quite; he is a tease, really. "For all the lovely compliments. And for this, too."

Harry's a bit of a cuddle-whore but he likes snogging just as well. And Draco's always up for a serious lip-wrestle with a spot of groping added on for good measure. The pleasant breezes and sweet sunshine of the day recede into the distance, not minded at all by the two Hogwarts profs tangling tonsils as if they were two Whomping Willows engaged in some strange mating ritual.

However, the bench is secluded but not entirely private, situated as it is in the midst of Draco's Ingredients Garden. A few straggling students stop to hoot and catcall at them before giggling loudly and scurrying off.

"Damn," Draco whispers, removing his mouth from Harry's reluctantly and hastily withdrawing his hand from the distinct bulge that has grown in Harry's trousers. He shakes his head forlornly at Harry's woebegone expression. "We've been sighted, sorry. Now we'll have to go in. Do actual work, ugh! God, I hate Fourth Years!"

"So pestilent," Harry agrees breathlessly. He climbs to his feet, waving an admonitory forefinger over their sandwich wrappers and disappearing them wordlessly. "Shit. Well, if we must, we must. Come on."

"Oi!" Draco catches him up quickly enough—not as though Harry's even trying to flee—and grabs at his free hand, entwining his fingers through Harry's knuckles and squeezing. "You _do_ realize, don't you? When you do wandless like that, it excites me. It excites me rather a lot and I was already excited, cheers. Now I've got to lecture my way through a double hard-on as well as double bloody Potions. Thanks, mate."

Harry cracks a grin, glancing up and sidelong as they step up their pace to the toll of the class bells. "Hmm," he hums, but he's pleased as punch, really. Not about to admit it, though. "…Ah, erm?"

Because surely there's more to this, coming? Malfoy doesn't generally comment unless there's a good reason. He's a taciturn chap, mostly. Prefers action to words.

"I think I could maybe even hate you for it, Potter," Draco goes on mildly. As if remarking on the weather. "Excepting I love you quite rabidly, so that's out. Lunch tomorrow, then?"

"Oh! _Oh_!" It's just all too much, all at once, and Harry comes to an abrupt halt, flinging his spare arm about Draco, causing the taller man to grunt and clutch at Harry in return, so as to keep their balance. They wobble a little, but manage it in the end, not that Harry is noticing. "Absolutely, you great git. Count on it."

"Well, then. Sorted, isn't it?" Draco plants one last kiss on Harry's staticky hair, not minding at all the bright green sparks of sheer unalloyed happiness sizzling up from the ends of the tangles, and urges his fellow academic along with a fond shove to the small of the back. "Come on. Sooner we're both handing out fifteen foot-long essays on the most common ichors and the twenty least-effective blocking spells, the sooner we can actually have a proper shag, right? There's that lovely gap before supper."

"Right!"

"All right, then. Move your delectable bum class-wards, short stuff. Duty fucking well calls."

"Right. Bah!" Harry flinches, grimacing like a loon. "I've got the Sevens, Merlin help me. _Fuck_."

"Exactly so. Fifths, and Ravenclaws on top of that—two solid hours of constant questioning of my every instruction. Pity me, will you?"

"I _do_!" Harry rejoins fervently. "Oh…oh crappity, crappity, _crap_. We should run now? We're late!"

In accord, hands are clasped between the two men once more. Dashing off, neither notes Headmistress is spying from her office window, and has been for quite all of the hour-and-some prior, disguising her now-and-again upwards-turning twitches of stiff upper lip with sips of a very bracing brew of Assam and numerous lemony biscuits.

Harry and Draco are late again. It's not exactly a wonder, but it can prove quite inconvenient. There's only so much the ghosts can do to occupy the students till their lagging-arse professors deign to arrive and teach them.

"Boys!" she utters, as the two errant profs disappear from view finally, ducking into the building a solid ten minutes tardy but at least returning. "Bloody _boys_."

McGonagall's voice is eerily reminiscent of Hermione Weasley's tones, though, and poor ex-Headmaster Snape is forced to turn about in his capacious frame and busy himself with fondling his shelves of painted Potion tomes when he overhears her. Which tomes happen to include many he himself had authored, back in the day. 'Back in the day', right? Well, that's not now. And he and Minerva rub along quite well, really, but there are _limits_.

For it wouldn't do at all to _agree_.

_Finite_


End file.
